Love Notes
by lachlanrose
Summary: Logan's thoughts on intimate correspondence. His. Hers. Theirs. Ensemble piece. L/M, S/J, et al.


**Title: **Love Notes  
**Author:** lachlanrose  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but thankfully that doesn't stop me from playing with that Logan one.  
**Feedback:** Sure, why not? I'm feeling lucky today. ;)  
**Summary:** Logan's thoughts on intimate correspondence. His. Hers. Theirs. Ensemble piece. L/M, S/J, et al.  
**Notes: **This one came at me from out of left field. It's a Logan POV piece and those are always my favorite to write. I adore the male brain. For those true cynics out there, I will say that it's a bit fluffier than my usual. I'm still not quite sure how that happened. ::shifty eyes:: Now that I've purged this particularly insistent idea from my brain, the AngstMuse and the NaughtyMuse are demanding to be heard. Loudly. (Imma go get on that. Pronto.) Which isn't to say they didn't get a look in here as well, but I think they're still feeling a bit neglected... Thanks to the usual suspects for the beta. Written before I saw X2.

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**Love Notes**

You know, we all got our own way of doin' things. Leavin' little things for the people we care about. Now, I s'pose that ain't the most earth shatterin' news considerin' what passes for regular around here, but in the last few years, I've gotten to know these geeks pretty well. Learned some things 'bout 'em that surprised even me, and that's pretty hard to do. There ain't a lot I haven't seen, ya know?

Covert aircraft, black leather and, uh, 'gifts' aside, we're not so different from everyone else. Eatin', sleepin', takin' a- Well, I'm sure ya get the gist of it. Heh. We got our ups and our downs just like other people do. It ain't all sunshine and roses, but it ain't all bad either. And for a bunch of people who put their collective asses on the line every damn day and wade through some of the worst shit imaginable, we somehow manage to be soft when we need to. Even me.

See, everyone here has their own way of bein' soft. Jeannie was the easiest to figure out, mostly 'cause she never hid it. She has this habit of writin' little notes and leavin' 'em for Summers. At first, I just didn't get why she did that. They live in the same room for christsakes, but from time to time, these little pink envelopes would show up – always where Scott would find 'em. Which either meant they were taped to the tool chest in the hangar or taped to his toolbox in the garage. It's always the same stationary. Always pink. And they always smell like her perfume.

I guess it don't really matter why she does it. 'Cause I got to thinkin' about it - about how his face never gives anythin' away when he reads 'em, but his scent always changes. Can't hide that, Slim. Heh. Sometimes he just smells happy. Occasionally it's a little less on the happy side and a little more on the oh-yes-I'm-gonna-get-laid-tonight side, but the more I thought about it, the more I got to thinkin' I sure as hell wouldn't mind gettin' little things like that from Marie. Even if they were pink.

Now take 'Ro. It took me a little longer to figure her out, but it's real hard to keep things a secret in this place. It's just too damn small. Hmph. Never thought I'd say that 'bout a mansion. I'm usedta livin' in the camper or in shitty, rundown motel rooms. Nothin' like this spread, that's for damn sure, but it ain't so much about the space as it is about the people. Mostly 'cause they're more like family, I guess. A fucked up family to be sure, heh, but family just the same.

Anyway, back to 'Ro. Now she ain't like Jeannie at all. None of that fancy uniform stationary shit for her. Nuh-uh. That girl pulls out all the stops. She don't do it often, but when she does. Damn. She even makes the paper. I wouldnta believed it, but I saw her makin' it down in the kitchen. Makin' pulp in the blender and mixin' in flower petals and shit like that. Personally, I thought it'd wind up lookin' like crap, but boy, was I wrong. Who'd have guessed it'd come out lookin' like _that_. Real pretty in this natural kinda way.

Actually, it looked a lot like the stuff in the window of that fancy paper store in the mall Jubilee's always draggin' Marie into. Jesus. A store just for paper? Leave it to Jubilee to find a way to spend a fortune on somethin' as cheap and simple as paper. Hmph. Women.

Still, though, when 'Ro was done, it looked real nice. I think part of the sentiment was in the time it took to make it. It wasn't just the words. She was tellin' her man that he was worth spendin' that time on. Worth the hours it took to do that. Her way of showin' him he was on her mind even when he wasn't with her. And from the look on her face – and the way she smelled when she got back – he liked it just fine.

Remy was another one who was pretty easy to figure out. Mostly 'cause I've seen his 'notes' around here more than once – although they ain't usually in the hands of the same woman. Which was kinda amusin' until I saw Marie holdin' one. Fucker. Gumbo and I, well, we had a little talk 'bout that. Well, I talked. He just did a lot of noddin'. Who knew claws could be so distractin'? Heh.

I guess you can't blame the guy for havin' a system. He'd be stupid not to, what with all that volume. Heh. Seems to work, too, considerin' all the noise that comes from his room. Now his notes, they ain't anythin' special. He don't even write 'em himself. They're the kind that come with flowers or fancy chocolates. The kinda plain white card that the lady at the florist writes for ya and tucks inta the bouquet. Hell, I bet they even say the same damn thing – or somethin' close to it.

Don't get me wrong, though. I ain't badmouthin' the kid. Much. Heh. He's young, lookin' for a good time, and an even better fuck. I'd bet good money when he's done playin' – or when love knocks him flat on his ass – as it has a tendency to do… Well, let's just say, I'd lay odds that ol' Gumbo will put pen to paper. We just won't catch him doin' it. Fuckin' sneaky little bastard.

Jubilee was a little harder to figure out. Musta been all those trips to the paper store that threw me off. Who can spend forty-five minutes lookin' at paper? Jesus. Anyway, I was expectin' hers to be somethin' like a cross between 'Ro's and Jeannie's. Like some kinda stationary made from that fancy paper like 'Ro makes. I couldn'ta been more wrong.

She don't even use paper at all. Nah, not her. She leaves her little notes with that phone she always carries. Well, I guess it ain't just a phone. That girl likes her tech. It could probably operate mission control at NASA. Hell, for all I know, it operates the damn TV. Shit. It does everythin' else under the fuckin' sun.

Anyway, for someone as loud and annoyin' as that kid can be, she keeps the notes she sends – and the ones she gets back – real close to her chest. They sure do make her smile when she gets 'em, though. Not that megawatt smile she has for everyone else. Uh-uh. I'm talkin' about a real gentle smile that touches her eyes and makes her look all soft.

That's all kinds of good on a lot of different levels. Not the least of which bein' she's Marie's best friend. When her love life ain't goin' so good, Marie gets an earful of what shits men can be. Which wouldn't be so bad, except for one thing. Marie's a real good friend, and Jubilee's bitchin' has a tendency to make Marie sympathize with her more than she probably should. It don't exactly help my cause any when Marie and the firecracker are chuggin' my Molson and agreein' that all men are assholes.

'Course, I've always liked a challenge, and the fact that I not only let 'em drink all my beer – without even complainin' - but carry them back up to their rooms when they're all tipsy, does wonders for my 'asshole' status. Heh. See? I can be a sneaky bastard too.

Kitty's another of those not-paper girls - at least when it comesta love notes. She likesta send hers in email. Now, I can't exactly take credit for that one. Marie told me. I shoulda known, though. That girl is a whiz when it comesta anythin' technical. Hell, I shoulda figured she couldn't unplug long enough to find a pen and real paper. Hmph.

Digital is nice and all, but it ain't a substitute for the real world. I don't care how advanced computers get. Nothin's ever gonna be better than the real McCoy. The feel of the paper. The scent clingin' to it. The fact that the person you care about touched it. All of that – it means somethin'. I suspect Kitty will figure that one out sooner or later.

To be fair, email does have that whole instant thing workin' for it. Damn. There's a lot you could do with that – if you were creative enough. Yeah. That could be good. Real good. Like - Awww, fuck it. Better not go there. Heh.

Bobby and John still haven't progressed much passed scratchin' somethin' down on regular notebook paper. Dumbasses. They'll learn eventually, though. Girls are pretty high up on their 'to do' lists… Heh. Get it?… Anyway, passin' notes was fine for them when they were in school, but they graduated five years ago. They just haven't figured out that what worked in high school just ain't gonna cut it now. No way. They ain't as slick as Gumbo, but they're learnin'. I saw the icicle the other day with one of those store bought cards. Nothin' fancy, but it sure as hell beats notebook paper.

Now, Slim? He's a little different. That man writes on whatever's handy. I've seen notes on napkins, on scraps of paper. Hell, once I even saw one written on the side of Jeannie's Starbucks cup - you know, one of those white paper ones. He might not get points for puttin' much effort into gettin' a nice card, but damned if he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve.

For as much as I enjoy ridin' Scott's ass, he has the balls to put shit into writin' that I can only say within the confines of my own damn head. And you can tell he means every last word. I think Jeannie don't mind that he uses whatever's around to write on simply because he's speakin' straight from the heart. That shit carries weight. He has a thought and he writes it down. Simple as that. He don't need anythin' to dress it up. His words stand on their own.

As for Hank – He's the only one I don't have figured out for sure, yet. Make no mistake, big blue ain't exactly lackin' for female company. No sir. You'd be surprised at the number of women who go for blue fur and pointy ears. Heh. The woman he's seein' now – boy, is she somethin'. Smart like him, with some kinda fancy legal job downtown. She ain't all high and mighty or anythin' like that. Gotta watch out for that mouth, though. Heh. She gets in some real good ones. Not only that, but she's got damn fine taste in beer. What is it with the women in this house and my Molson stash? Hmph. She also travels a lot, which personally I couldn't take. Havin' Marie gone like that would drive me fuckin' nuts. Hank seems to take it in stride, though. Half the time he gets so caught up in his research he forgets what day it is anyway. She's real good 'bout remindin' him though… and I know he don't have any complaints. Heh.

As far as the note writin' goes, Hank – he's a tricky one. I've never seen him write one, but that don't mean it doesn't happen. Marie says he's one of the sweetest, most thoughtful men she's ever known. Which would've riled me up pretty good, 'cept for one thing – I know it ain't Hank who gets her motor runnin'. Heh. 'Specially not now that Marie and I are officially a couple. Anyway, Marie says he's definitely the note writin' kinda guy.

If I had to take a guess, I'd say big blue don't have a set way of doin' it like pretty much everyone else 'round here does. I bet he finds out what kinda note his woman likes best – fancy paper, plain card, email – whatever… and then that's the way he does it. Somethin' that shows what she likes is important to him. Hell, I'd ask her myself, but the damned woman knows where I keep my beer. Heh. Definitely not a risk worth runnin'.

By far though, Marie's notes are my favorite. Nobody else here does it quite like she does. To tell the truth, I was a little surprised when I found the first one. It ain't every day I get up to take a leak and find:

_I love you, Logan._

Written on my forearm in black magic marker. It's not only gutsy, but damn intimate to actually write somethin' on someone else's skin, ya know? I wasn't expectin' that at all. After I got to thinkin' 'bout it a little, it made more and more sense. The kinda girl who'd take off from home with only two hundred bucks and a duffel bag ain't real likely to be shy when it comesta stuff like that.

I gotta tell ya, I loved seein' those words on me. Loved that she'd marked me as hers. Not that she hadn't with her mouth and hands earlier, but this was a mark that lasted even after the healin' kicked in. Sorta the equivalent to the marks I left on her skin. Which I don't mind tellin' you, I love lookin' at almost as much as I love makin'. Heh.

As for the words she put on me, though…. I swear, I could feel them burnin' under my shirt the whole fuckin' day long. Like some kinda sexy brand or somethin'. And I couldn't wait to see what she'd write next time. I kinda thought it might be a little more racy than 'I love you'. I was right. The next time the words read:

_I love the way you taste._

I don't think it was more'n ten minutes before I had Marie back upstairs, flat on her back in our bed. After that, it kinda got to be a habit. A little piece of her I take with me wherever I go. Now that I know what to expect, she don't try to sneak 'em on me as much anymore. Now she writes 'em while we're dressin' in the mornin', but she don't let me look at 'em. Not right then. I gotta tell ya, the anticipation is fuckin' incredible. Just the tickle of the pen on my skin is enough to make me rock hard. She knows it too. Heh. Tease.

It's definitely had some interestin' results. I remember once after we'd been together for a few months, I was out in the garage workin' on one of the cars when I decided to take a little break and read her note. Flat on my back on the concrete floor, under that car, I rolled back my shirtsleeve and about had a heart attack. Right there on my arm in her pretty little scrawl were the words:

_Sugar, all I can think about is being on my knees in front of you._

That was six months ago and Summers is still givin' me shit about the noise we made that afternoon. Heh. As a matter of fact, I got a note on my arm right now. I promised her I'd wait until tonight to read it. Hmph. My wife's still the best at wranglin' those promises outta me. This is the longest she's ever asked me to wait before readin' it. From her scent this mornin', I can tell it's gonna be a good one. A real good one. It's nearly sunset now, so I don't have much longer to wait. Maybe just enough time to tell ya a little somethin' about me – 'bout the kinda love note I like to write.

Now, I really ain't one for words. Never have been. Never will be. Even bein' married to Marie don't change that. She knows that I love her. Knows that I show it with actions 'cause words are real hard for me. They sound ok in my head, but gettin' 'em out is still hard. Even after all this time. I felt bad about not writin' her little notes the way everyone else around here does. I ain't slick like Remy and I don't wear my heart on my sleeve like Cyke. Hell, I can't even manage notebook paper like Bobby and John.

One night when I was drunk enough, I told her so. Told her I was sorry I wasn't any good at sayin' how I felt. She just got real quiet and this soft, amazin' smile lit up her whole face. She gave me a real tight hug and told me she didn't know what I was talkin' about. That I'd been writin' notes to her since before she ever even gave me one. Now, I didn't quite know what to make of that. I know I never wrote her anythin'. Not one damn thing. She musta seen the confusion on my face, 'cause the look on hers got even softer and sexier.

She told me I'd been tracin' words on her skin since before we'd ever even kissed. To tell the truth, I was shocked. I guess my body's always been better about tellin' Marie how I feel than my brain ever will be. She says I trace the most romantic things she's ever heard onto her skin, 'specially after lovemakin'. She says that I traced 'I love you, kid' on her skin before either of us ever said it out loud. That my sayin' it to her that way gave her the courage to go ahead and write it on my skin with that pen.

I don't mind tellin' ya, I was surprised as hell. But after I thought 'bout it some, it made sense. I've always liked touchin' her, but I just can't keep my hands offa her after we're done makin' love. I just hafta touch her – and in my mind, I'm thinkin' how I wish I could just let her see right into my heart. Let her see all those words in my head I can't seem to let out. I guess they found a way out after all.

Now one of my favorite times of the day is when we're lyin' in bed together. When it's all dark and quiet. When my scent is on her, and hers is on me, and I can just touch her and let my hands tell her all the things I have such a hard time sayin'. I don't think I've ever felt more at peace. That woman's my heart and soul, and I love her with everythin' I got in me. Always will.

Well, would ya look at that. The sun just edged over the horizon and I can see Marie walkin' over to where I'm sittin' at the edge of the grounds. That she's lookin' for me right when she told me to read my note can only mean one thing. Heh. Damn, I'm a lucky man. Just let me roll my shirtsleeve up high enough to- Oh! Oh, holy God. I don't believe it. I don't fuckin' believe it! One look at her face, though, and I'm convinced she ain't teasin'. Oh, darlin', c'mere. I'm just gonna wrap my arms around you and never letcha go. Never. I love you so much, baby. So much.

You know, I'm gonna take my wife upstairs. Right now. We're goin' right this minute. I ain't even gonna roll my sleeve down. I don't care if the whole world reads my arm… in fact; I want 'em to, 'cause this – this right here is the best love note ever.

_Congratulations, sugar. You're going to be a daddy._


End file.
